Stay
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: A fluffy piece in which Natasha makes dinner for Steve and they finally have more than a few minutes together. He wants her to stay. Will she? What will he do to convince her?


She's cooking for him, again.

Dinner, this time.

It's the usual set up, at least he thinks it is. Quite frankly, he's been on a mission for forty eight hours and he's feeling a bit drained by this point so whether or not she used the front door or a window isn't really the first thing on his mind right now. All he cares about is the fact that after two days of fighting some bastard with too much ego and not enough weaponry or strategy, she is in his home and for once he doesn't have to eat take-out or even worse, his own cooking. He's halfway out of the tight confines of the suit, leaving the partially shredded upper half of the damn thing to hang limply around his waist. That's not to say the rest of it looks any better. It doesn't. In the interest of preserving his dignity, he's chosen to wait until he's in the privacy of his bathroom to get rid of the rest of it. And anyway, she's looking terribly inviting in those dark jeans of hers and after forty-eight hours of hard battle, he needs the comfort of a feminine touch. He slips into the kitchen and wraps his arms around her waist, his hands settling on her flat stomach.

"Welcome home, Captain." Her voice is softer than usual, the dangerous edge gone and in it's place is something soothing, tender even.

"Thanks, Tasha." He can't help but chuckle into the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

She angles her head to look at him, crisp green eyes meeting his own sharp blue orbs. She notes the tiredness in his eyes, sleeping pulling heavy at his eyelids and the smears of blood on his temple and jaw. He smells like sweat and cologne. It's a scent that she's come to know as uniquely Steve. She's never been one to notice how a man smells - although she had noticed the distinct smell of frost when in the presence of Loki - but Steve is different. She notices the little things like how he smells and how he always tastes like rich coffee and peppermint.

"Dinner's almost ready." Natasha nudges the oven door with a jean-clad knee. "Chicken and pasta casserole."

His lips press into the top of her head again, kissing her red curls tenderly even as his arms slip away from her waist. "Shower."

He trudges to his bathroom to divest himself of his suit and take a shower before dinner. She offers him a nod and continues stirring the melted chocolate in the pot. It's easy and comfortable, this routine of theirs. It doesn't feel forced and she's not going out of her comfort zone. It all has a sense of normality to it, a domesticity that she honestly never thought herself capable of. Not that it's the typical housewife domesticity, oh hell no, she was not a Stepford Wife by any means but she could hold her own in the kitchen and her apartment was relatively clean, mostly because she was hardly ever home.

She's opening a couple of beers when he returns from the shower in a pair of loose khaki trousers and a clean white t-shirt. He looks clean and refreshed and the scent of his spicy cologne emanating from him is making her salivate stupidly. Actually, that might have been just him.

"You turning into a typical American housewife on me, Tasha?" Steve teases lightly, taking a seat in his usual chair.

In mere seconds, she has her arm wrapped around his neck from behind and the barrel of her gun is pressing uncomfortably into his ribs. Her voice is low and deadly in his ear; "Would a housewife do this to you, Rogers?"

Oh. Damn. He'd better re-think that one and do it quickly. While his body could regenerate cells, thus promoting a faster healing process, he was in no hurry to have her shoot him for calling her a housewife. He tilts his head back and presses a kiss to her neck, feeling her pulse thrumming beneath her creamy flesh. He kisses it repeatedly until the barrel of the gun falls away from his ribs and she shoves it back into the leg holster with a slight huff of frustration - not that she would admit, she did so.

"Any missions today, Tasha?" He inquires, lifting his head from her shoulder.

"No." Natasha releases his neck and moves away to the stove. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

She shoves her hands into a couple of oven mitts and retrieves a large casserole dish from the heated depths of his oven. It's bubbling and browned to perfection on top. The thick and creamy casserole of chicken, bow-tie pasta and alfredo and sun-dried tomato sauce smells delicious and he hopes it tastes as good as it looks. She sets it down on the table and retrieves a pan of sliced, warmed french bread. She closes the oven door and moves about his kitchen to retrieve plates, forks and two beers.

They eat in comfortable silence; he's too hungry from two days of hard battle and she's never been much of a talker as it is. The casserole is half-gone by the time they finish eating and the rest is put away in his fridge for him to re-heat and enjoy again when he's ready. When dinner is finished, she retrieves a plate piled with fresh fruit and the pot of melted chocolate along with wooden skewers. His hands are large and clumsy when she teaches him the fine art of dipping fruit in chocolate and not losing it. He feels like an idiot when he discovers that the fruit is too delicate to simply be dipped, it has to be lowered at an angle and twirled through the chocolate.

The chocolate is warm and silky in their mouths, coating their throats in a sheet of warmth. It's sticky as it drips on their hands and fingers, dribbling down their chins and in the corner of their mouths. They look like children who just finished a hot fudge sundae but it's worth it, not only to taste something so wonderful and lovely but to have time together. It's not often their job affords them much more than about fifteen minutes together.

They have both relished the past hour they've had together, even though they know it won't last much longer.

The plate of fruit disappears quickly and the chocolate is put away. Beer bottles that have long since been drained are tossed and plates are dropped into the sink. The moment is getting awkward. Very awkward. She's standing in front of him, unsure of where exactly this night was going to go when he decides to nip the awkwardness in the bud.

"This could be very awkward," Steve informs her in a low voice. "In fact, all arrows seem to point in that direction."

"Yes, they do." Natasha nods the affirmative, stepping closer to him.

"You won't stay much longer." Steve acknowledges, draping his arms around her waist. "I know that."

"I might." Natasha shrugs with a small smile, "If the offer is right."

"Well I can't promise fun and games, Tasha." Steve's voice is low, dipping down in volume and in octave.

"What can you promise, Steve?" Her voice is breathless and sultry with unspoken promises of what could happen if he persuades her to stay.

He's never been a smooth-talker, not with women anyway. If he can't be direct and up front about his intentions then he simply couldn't do it. While he could be direct with her and not have it embarrass the living hell out of him, she's staring at him with half-lidded eyes and lips that he knows from experience, are soft and plump. He thinks he'd do better just to show her what he promises to do if she agrees to stay and it's one of the best damn decisions he's ever made. She tasted of chocolate; smooth with a floral sweetness that seems to fit her in the most delicious way but at the same time contradict everything he knows her to be. She's not warmth, fragility and smoothness. She's fire and strength and roughness and the best damn thing that's ever happened to him. She is beautiful and lethal; a dangerous flame that attracts moths like him. She is S.H.I.E.L.D's best agent and Coulson's favorite.

But for tonight, she isn't any of that.

Tonight, she is his.

* * *

**So this thing is one of six that I started and the only one I managed to finish. It kind of went in a whole other direction than I had planned but that's okay, I had friend there to assure me that it was fine - thanks, Mari, you're a doll! So I don't have much to say except for the fact that I hope you like it and that you should leave me some love because reviews are like my crack! I'm not on drugs but if reviews were drugs, I'd be hooked! Yikes! That sounds bad but you get it right? Lol! **

**Love ya, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove **


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